


Wet Shave

by Lady_of_the_Refrigerator



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Facial Shaving, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_the_Refrigerator/pseuds/Lady_of_the_Refrigerator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The barber dragged his blade in short, neat strokes against Red’s cheek, pulling the skin taut as he went. Liz swallowed, her throat suddenly tight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A quick one shot inspired by late-night random youtube watching that I was spurred into finishing by the promo photos for 2x14.

Dembe stood between Liz and the door to the back room inside the strange little barber shop she tracked them to. “I told you, Agent Keen, he’s indisposed at the moment.”  
  
“Look, Dembe, I get it, but think about this for a second. You know I’m just gonna keep pushing here and either he’ll hear us and come out or you’ll cave and go get him. No matter what, he’ll talk to me. Why don’t we just skip the preliminaries and you let me go back there right now? I’m not going to disrupt his money laundering or counterfeiting or whatever scheme or scam he’s running through this place. I just want to talk.”  
  
Dembe shook his head and sighed, before stepping aside with great and obvious reluctance.  
  
Whatever she’d been planning to say to Red died on her lips when she walked through the door.  
  
A tiny, frail-looking old man with incongruously steady hands was shaving Red’s face with a straight razor. He was so intent on his task, he didn’t look up when Liz entered the room. Red didn’t either; his eyes were covered with a hot towel as he reclined in the barber’s chair, a striped cotton cloth draped over him from the neck down to protect his suit.  
  
The barber dragged his blade in short, neat strokes against Red’s cheek, pulling the skin taut as he went. Liz swallowed, her throat suddenly tight, her breathing slow and shallow. Her chest burned with an odd ache that thrummed along with her pulse, an ache mirrored elsewhere that she dare not admit, because what would it mean to find something like this arousing? Where would that leave her? Acknowledging her attraction to Red was hard enough without her subconscious throwing psychologically unsettling curveballs at her left and right, like the twinge she always felt whenever he was restrained.  
  
Liz continued to watch, entranced, as the barber finished the shave and wrapped a cool towel around Red’s face, massaging as he went.  
  
“Mr. Reddington, I’m going to apply some of your usual aftershave now, is that all right?”  
  
“Perfectly fine, Enrique,” Red replied. She had never heard him sound so completely and utterly relaxed before. Her blood ran cold and hot at the mere thought of being privy to such a private moment.  
  
Then his eyes opened.  
  
“Lizzy.” His voice was gravel and smoke and honey. Indulgent, without the slightest hint of reproach. “How long have you been here?”  
  
“A while.”  
  
“You didn’t say anything.”  
  
“I didn’t want to interrupt.”  
  
He perused her face, lazy but thorough. “Are you all right? You seem… preoccupied.”  
  
Preoccupied. He chose that word so carefully. Accurate, technically, and yet… not. Liz caught sight of herself in the mirror, all pink-tinged skin and wide eyes, almost breathless. Raymond Reddington was a master at reading people’s nonverbal cues—he knew exactly what was the matter with her. She felt exposed under his heavy-lidded, knowing gaze. She shook her head and shrugged, hoping he would take it for nonchalance rather than speechlessness.  
  
He stood slowly and shook Enrique’s hand before strolling over to stop, like usual, just a shade too far into her personal space; like usual, she made no move to correct the distance. It was moments like this that made her wonder what he thought of that. She made a vow to herself early in their acquaintance never to back down from his poking and prodding of her boundaries, at first as a show of bravery and then…  
  
Then it was something _different_.  
  
Red leaned a fraction closer, still testing. He let out a deep, satisfied breath when she stood her ground—she even leaned forward a bit to follow the scent of his aftershave—and he laid a hand at the small of her back to lead her out into shop itself. Dembe was nowhere to be found.  
  
Once they were alone, he gave her face another unhurried once-over. “What’s on your mind, Lizzy?”  
  
Liz stifled a snort. What was on her mind? Well, she certainly wasn’t going to tell him _that_.  
  
“I always wondered how you got such a close shave,” she said instead. “I didn’t realize it was so… involved.”  
  
“I use a safety razor on a day to day basis, you know the old fashioned ones your grandfather probably used with a single blade? Today’s Mach 47s or whatever with their advanced shaving technology and fifteen tiny little blades that get dull after half a cheek—all they ever do is give you razor burn. That,” he gestured over his shoulder into the back room, “was an occasional indulgence. It requires a measure of trust that I can’t afford to place in too many people. Enrique is a rare exception.”  
  
A fleeting thought occurred to Liz that she wouldn’t mind if he eventually found reason to place that kind of trust in her, but she doubted he would ever let her anywhere near his neck with a sharp object, not when he knew the kind of damage she could do with something as innocuous as a pen. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret, and shook herself mentally. What an odd thing to regret.  
  
After a few charged moments of silence, Red pressed his hand against her back to continue to usher her out of the shop.  
  
“Wait,” she said, “you have a little…”  
  
Before she realized what she was doing, her hand was scant millimeters from his face, but she stopped herself before she actually touched him. When she didn’t move one way or the other he nodded and said, “Go ahead.”  
  
She wiped a tiny fleck of shaving cream from under his ear and pulled away; something like disappointment shone in his eyes. Had he expected her to run her fingers over his skin? Perhaps he had. He would have let her, if she tried. Maybe he even wanted her to.  
  
Liz took a steadying breath and reached up to frame his face with her hands. She took the time to stroke her thumbs over his cheeks, along his jaw, caressing even the places she was sure the blade hadn’t touched; Red’s eyes slid shut under her ministrations. Finally, she rested her hands where his neck met his shoulders.  
  
“Do I pass muster?” he asked, brows raised, eyes still closed.  
  
“So far so good,” she said. “But there’s one last thing I want to test.”  
  
“Be my guest.”  
  
As a sensation that felt like falling settled in her stomach, Liz leaned in and pressed her lips to his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny bonus from Red's POV.

A kiss is never really _just_ a kiss, no matter what the song may say.   
  
Red learned that a long time ago, when Marnie Petersen pushed him up against a wall and stole his first kiss, his cigar, and his father’s old brass Zippo lighter with the patina he loved so much, all in the space of about sixty seconds.  
  
He became well versed in expecting the unexpected after that. His very life depended on his ability to prepare for every possible situation, but not even he could have predicted this.  
  
Lizzy kissed him. She _kissed_ him.  
  
She surprised him.   
  
Again.  
  
He would’ve thought he was dreaming, but his dreams were rarely this pleasant. The moment her lips touched his, a sweet, twisting tension coiled in his belly. When he responded, she slid her hands around his neck with an eager moan; the hand he had at the small of her back tightened and pulled her closer.  
  
He knew that on some basic level she was attracted to him. Had known, in fact, probably longer than she had. It was simply part of his nature to catalog potentially useful information; the first time he noticed her gaze drifting to his lips as he spoke, he filed it away for future consideration. That it quickly became a habit of hers only served as confirmation.  
  
And she always let him stand so close, much closer than she should have been comfortable with so soon, without a flinch or a reprimand.  
  
Funny, he thought she was in denial, or that she was at the very least repressing her attraction almost as hard as he was repressing his. She told him she cared about him—more than once—but care could mean so many things.  
  
But this? This went above and beyond mere attraction. This was acknowledgement. This was declaration of intent, unable to be misinterpreted. Lizzy would never kiss him _just_ to kiss him. It wasn’t her style.  
  
She trailed her lips across his impeccably smooth skin until they brushed against his ear. “Red?”  
  
“Mmm?”  
  
He felt her smile against his cheek before she whispered, “For once in your life, stop thinking.”


End file.
